A few years ago my wife and I were at a cross roads in our marriage. We had married young and were virtually the only lovers either of us had known. Shirley is a good church going woman who doesn't believe in divorce yet she had grown increasingly restless within our marital bond. The crunch came when she found out that I had slept with the wife of one of our friends. There was tears and acrimony and threats of leaving before her more rationale side took over. She admitted in one of her rages that she also had been tempted but had never done anything about it.
Now, in her calm state, we talked about what she would like to do. In short she wanted a fling, some freedom to sow her own wild oats without jeopardizing our marriage. I was in no position to deny her, so I agreed. The decision coincided with a vacation trip to the Costa del Sol. We had arranged through a friend of my boss to rent a small house overlooking the ocean in a secluded part of the town.
The landlord met us upon our arrival and showed us around. He was a handsome man in his late forties and spoke with the charm and grace of a bygone era. My wife was especially taken by him, and the air was electric between them.
On the second day there, Rail dropped by with a bottle of wine and an invitation for me to join him for some deep sea fishing on his friend's charter boat. Shirley doesn't care for boats so she begged off but encouraged me to join the men for a day of relaxation.
As the gear was being loaded on the boat and Raoul and our host chattered back and forth in Spanish I began to feel a bit awkward. Although I didn't understand a word of what was being said, it seemed by their nods and glances that I was a large part of their discussion. Then, just as the lines were cast off and the boat edged away from the dock, Raoul got an emergency phone call and stepped back ashore full of apologies and insisting that I go anyway and enjoy a day on the water.
A pang of doubt rippled through my belly as I watched him waving from the wharf. I knew in my heart that he had a boat ride of his own planned, and my wife was the vessel. That would make me the biggest fish of the day.
Five hours later I arrived back at the house, tired and sunburned. The empty wine bottle was on the coffee table. Shirley was resting on a lounge on the enclosed patio, a half-filled glass nearby. There was no need to guess what had happened. The look on my wife's face told it all. Raoul had been with her since the boat pulled out. With the license of my infidelity giving her cause and fortified by the wine. she was more than happy - even anxious - to tell me all about what they had done. Before she had finished I had more information than I wanted about the size of Raoul's cock and the marvels of his tongue. She described her many orgasms and how good it felt to have unfamiliar fingers play with her openings and a stranger's head between her legs.
Afterwards, he'd led her naked onto the patio to swim nude in the pool. They'd fucked in the water and again on the sun drenched deck. He'd woven flowers into her pubic hair, and rubbed crushed petals into the saturated folds below. She was saturated again just from telling the story. What surprised me the most was her admission that she'd sucked him off. Not one to really enjoy giving head, she'd never let me come in her mouth. Raoul, it seems, had had that pleasure the very first time they were alone.
